


found: wanting

by catastrophes



Category: Wanna One (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Radio, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Laundromat AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2018-08-16
Packaged: 2019-06-25 20:01:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15647943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catastrophes/pseuds/catastrophes
Summary: ch 1: collide ; laundromat auch 2: endless ; angel x reaper auch 3: midnight moon ; radio dj au[short fics written for @onghwangweek]





	1. collide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> day 1: big bang ✲彡 (first meetings)
> 
> seongwu finds a piece of home in a coin operated laundromat [G] (3.6k)

 

 

 

 

 

It’s a sweltering summer’s night, hot and humid, despite the late hour.

The back of Seongwu’s neck feels sticky as he walks along the quiet streets of the quaint neighborhood that he lives in. He is also aware of the unmistakable flickering that rears its head again—the something that has been sitting low within his rib cage, hard and heavy. 

It’s been growing lately, pulsing a little with every breath he takes.

Seongwu lifts his right hand to flatten it against his chest. He presses hard against his breastbone.

It’s close to the end of his first month here in Tokyo, and he’s still contemplating on whether the spontaneous decision to buy a one-way ticket with little thought about when he would return home, was the smartest choice.

It wasn't particularly like him to be so impulsive, usually framing every choice with conscious and logical reasoning, but there was something so magical and wonderful about the allure of this city that made him push aside rational thought. 

And truthfully, Seongwu shouldn't complain, since it's not been all that bad. 

Minus the fact that the shoe-box apartment his company had provided (free rent, can’t argue) barely has enough space to slot in a mini-fridge (he couldn't give up this very important necessity), let alone also fit in a laundry machine and a drying rack. 

Hence, here’s Seongwu, clutching a heavy bag full of triple-worn t-shirts, on a mission to catch up on laundry that he really, should have done  _weeks_  ago. In his defence, moving countries is busy work and anyway, it’s not like he has many friends yet to comment on his hygienic status.

So, he’s left it until now.

And, to put it simply, he’s also run out of underwear leaving him absolutely no way out.

(Seongwu’s a disaster, but he’s still a functioning disaster, thus, he can’t go on like this.)

He meanders down a further block where he soon spots the building that he’s looking for—walls overlaid with a white, gridlocked design that seems to glow in the dark and it’s bookmarked by a requisite vending machine, another indispensable appliance, in Seongwu’s humble opinion.

Pulling open the door to the laundromat, it almost feels dreamlike when Seongwu leaves Tokyo behind to take a step over the threshold, into the only place awake and open at this time of the night.

There’s no air-conditioning.

Just a whirring fan overhead, and it makes Seongwu lethargic, as he soaks in the haze that seems to slow everything down to a heavy pace.

He is faced with the steady hum of the dryers in the background, and the noticeable rattle of the semi-ancient washing machines that line the wall. The wafting, intermingling scents of laundry detergent—orange blossom and lavender—suddenly remind Seongwu of his mother and of Seoul.

There’s no one else around, just the echoing noises of his sneakers sliding across tile.

After he usurps the use of the largest, industrial size machine, Seongwu thinks, it’s strange that the laundromat of all places has the means to make him realize that the unmistakable pressure he's been feeling is the patterings of homesickness after all.

He convinces himself that it’s merely because he’s now alternately staring at both the unmoving barrel that he figures is supposed to _spin_ , and the numerous and unfamiliar words detailed on the instructional sticker at eye level, knowing he’s tripped up, barely after he’s begun.

Having learnt to speak Japanese conversationally is one thing, but attempting to make out technical words that he’s never come across before is currently driving him insane when all he wants to do is go home and pass out on his bed with  _clean_  pyjamas.

Shouldn’t laundry be universal and easy? Press one button and be done with it.

Maybe he didn’t put in enough detergent? Filled in too many clothes?

Seongwu rests his forehead against the pastel green surface. Gently thumping it once, twice on the cool metal in frustration, he mumbles, “Hey, mr machine, do you want my soul? It’s really not the most useful thing but you can have it, if it means that you’ll work.”

The washer remains silent. Instead, there’s sounds of footsteps behind him, obvious indication that someone else has come in to do their laundry as well. Seongwu debates whether to bite the bullet to ask for help, or to stay resolute and not allow this machine to best him.

And because he’s stubborn, the latter does sound more appealing in this exact situation because he’s twenty-five, a university degree holder, and a person that has recently moved one thousand, one hundred and fifty two kilometres independently, all on his own—

So surely, he can get a simple piece of technology to work, right?

Seongwu presses the button five times, like a child.

Dammit. Nope, it remains stubborn.

“C’mon,” Seongwu cajoles. “Despite the fact you look like you belong in the last century, I’m pretty sure I’m older than you, so can’t you please just respect me and do as you’re told?” he begs forlornly, hoping he doesn’t have to resort to kicking it.

(Not that he’s ever done that before, no.)

There’s a soft chuckle before a swift interjection, “Quick tip. That particular one you’re currently trying to sweet talk, is faulty. It registers less coins than it should do, so you need to add an extra three hundred yen if you want it to work. I usually avoid it if I can.” 

Seongwu blinks rapidly. It takes him a moment to realize that the voice behind him is in fact speaking in his mother tongue, the flowing syllables washing over him. And, interestingly, not just the words of help, but the sound of the stranger’s lilting tone oddly soothes Seongwu’s heart.

He tells himself he’s probably just grateful that he doesn’t need to use the full capacity of his already exhausted brain to process a foreign language and translate it. “Ah, thanks. I’m new to this,” Seongwu says as he turns around. “I’m new around here.”

The person standing before him is the opposite of what he’d expect to find in this unassuming locale—cool eyed, broad shouldered, and a face that makes Seongwu very definitely feel like he’s still encased within that dream world.

“I figured as much,” the guy says as he scoops detergent powder into the dispenser he pulls out. He closes it in a smooth motion, and starts up his own cycle even before Seongwu can blink again. “It’s not often that I hear someone speaking Korean around here so I assumed.”

Seongwu offers, "Would Japanese be easier for you? I can speak it a little." 

“Nah, it's alright, I use it all day. Sometimes it's nice to remember where I came from." 

Seongwu nods in understanding as he digs his hand back into his jeans pocket to pull out his remaining coins. “Anyway, I suppose the head banging probably was a dead giveaway regardless,” he quips lightly.

“Yeah, that too.” The small smile now playing on the stranger’s lips makes him far more accessible.

Seongwu is reluctant to tear his gaze away from the way the corners of the stranger’s lips are still prettily upturned but he finally does, soon reaching the conclusion that he is unfortunately one coin short of completing the only goal he had for the night.

He quickly pats down his other pocket, hoping he had left further change there, but no luck.

Grumbling under his breath, Seongwu mulls over what to do. Perhaps he could transfer his clothes to another machine, but it gets dashed when he sees none of them are free, now that the guy has taken over the use of the last two machines.

Truthfully, it’s not far at all to walk back to his apartment, but the principle of the idea is something he doesn’t want to give into, especially since this is already daylight (or night-time should he say) robbery in the first place. 

But the only other option is to ask the other male and somehow he already feels like he’s imposed on him enough, and taking money from someone he’s known for two seconds doesn’t sit well with him. However, before he can debate fully with himself, a “Here,” cuts in.

Seongwu looks up to see the guy holding out a shiny coin, between his index and thumb.

A beacon of saving hope again.

“I couldn’t,” Seongwu voices out, though really, it would be so easy.

The man laughs, soft and charming.

It makes his cheeks rise, and Seongwu swears the fluorescent lighting illuminating the laundromat brightens for a second.

“You just need a hundred yen right? It’s either this or going all the way back.” The coin waves. “I mean I don’t know if you live close by but walking any amount of unnecessary distance in this heat is something I wouldn’t recommend any day so—”

_Take it you lazy ass_ , his brain yells internally at him.

“Well, if you truly insist…”

Another laugh, and a firm nod is all it takes for Seongwu to stretch his fingers out. He breathes, “A godsend.” However, before he can grasp it physically, the stranger quickly pulls his hand back just ever so slightly, to keep it out of reach.

“Actually, wait. This coin is special,” the guy announces. “There’s a condition on it.”

“Oh?” Seongwu murmurs, eyebrows raising in question. He’s intrigued. “And what’s that?”

The constant whirling and buzzing of the machine next to the stranger’s head catches Seongwu’s attention, time and space seemingly suspending when it feels like a whole night and a day passes before Seongwu gets a response.

The guy finally taps the side of his jaw, musing, “Hmm, if we ever meet here again in the future, repay me back by buying me a drink from the vending machine outside.” Seongwu isn’t allowed a chance to reply as he carries on, "You saw it right? There’s a constant discount and all the items in it are priced at a one hundred yen. I like to pretend to be healthy, so I don’t buy it myself. But…if it came from someone else, I wouldn’t say no.”

It’s a curious thing, the way that the stranger talks about it as if leaving things up to fate and it continues to reaffirm the way Seongwu still feels like he was cast into a different dimension the moment he walked into this particular laundromat, and meeting this man.

Maybe he  _is_  dreaming.

The guy steps forward to place the coin on the jutting edge of the coin slot, obviously allowing Seongwu to make his own decision on whether to use it. And with a smile still curled across his lips, he again doesn’t wait for a response and just moves to sit down on one of the resting chairs in the corner, pulling out a paperback book from his bag in one swift motion.

Seongwu chews at his lower lip, before shrugging.

It’s not like he’s going to lose anything in this situation, and it’s only right that he repays the guy back anyway.

And maybe, they won’t ever meet again.

“Promise,” Seongwu tosses over his shoulder as he pushes the coin in, and punches the start button. He sighs with relief when water starts flowing.

Satisfied, he twists back around to see the guy now thumbing through pages, seemingly engrossed in deep concentration and instead of going home like he had been planning to, Seongwu’s not sure what propels his legs to walk towards the chairs.

The guy looks up. He pats the surface next to him, hair flopping over one eye as his head tilts. “Good choice. I’m Hwang Minhyun by the way.”

“Hwang Minhyun,” Seongwu rolls the name over his tongue, testing out the characters. It even sounds ridiculously pretty. He flops down on the plastic vinyl, feeling extremely drained. Laundry is really not his forte it seems. Licking his lips, he offers back, “I’m Ong Seongwu, and thank you.”

“That’s a fairly unusual name.”

Seongwu thinks he’s getting the usual spiel about his rare surname but after a long beat, he realizes that the guy has made a joke, forcing a hit of laughter out of him. The guy grins back in return, and Seongwu almost forgets the tugging thread of emotion within him. Almost. 

"That was awful," Seongwu says as he straightens up.

"But you laughed." 

Seongwu sighs before cracking another smile. "That's true, you got me there." 

With that, they lapse into easy silence, Seongwu just taking in the atmosphere.

He’s not sure whether Minhyun is supposed to be someone important to him—a sign from the universe to represent a little bit of home that he is missing, or whether he’s just a random person he’s going to meet in a laundromat just this one time.

But as the flip clock on the wall clicks over to show that it’s reached one-thirty am and with the both of them sitting side by side, arms almost brushing against each other as they watch laundry spin through foamy suds, there’s a hint of nostalgia wrapped in something hopeful as well.

And it makes Seongwu feel comfortable, which is all that matters. 

In an effort to stem the creeping fatigue, Seongwu soon asks, “Have you been here for long?”

Minhyun looks up again from his book, fingers pausing over the fluttering pages. “This laundromat?” His eyes dances. “Or Tokyo?”

Seongwu uses his elbow to give the other a slight nudge. “The latter of course.” He stretches out his legs and crosses his ankles over each other. “It’s similar but at the same time so different to Seoul.” He adds on as an afterthought, “That’s where I grew up.”

“Yeah, your accent gave it away,” Minhyun says knowingly. He closes his book shut with a snap and mirrors Seongwu’s pose. “I moved here from Busan five years ago for school, and then I found a job and somehow I haven’t left since.”

“What do you do?” Seongwu can’t help but be curious.

Minhyun angles his body towards Seongwu. He skims a line along the obviously worn spine of his book. “I work in an independent bookshop in the next neighborhood over and I write in my spare time. Maybe that’s why I haven’t felt the need to move back yet.”

“And why is that?”

“Because when I was young, I thought home was merely something that fit into my childhood house—that home was just my mother and father and sister. But now that I’m older, after reading book after book after book, I now know that home can be more than just those words after all.”

Seongwu closes his eyes, Minhyun’s voice resonating within him. He is unable to prevent the persistent drops of yearning from turning into a flood.

He remembers the extra spicy and sweet ddeokbokki that he normally gets from the street stall outside exit five, or the way that when he frequents his favorite cafe on a Tuesday evening, Sungwoon-hyung would give him an extra expresso shot for free, just the way he likes it.

And just the fact that he never needed to coax machines for not working as they should, or come across sentences that he had absolutely no idea how to translate the meaning across. But being in Tokyo, everything is foreign and new.

Now, Seongwu has to redo everything over. And, it scares the shit out of him.

He opens his eyes. Then, “Don’t you miss it though?”

Minhyun lifts a shoulder, saying, “It is inevitable that I miss certain things, but I’m not  _homesick_. It’s…like any time you grow into a new era of your life, there’s always people, places that you’ll leave behind. But on the other hand, you forget there are always new ones as well.” Minhyun pauses to look at Seongwu, an expression he can’t decipher. “To me, home is what you make of it. Busan  _was_  my home, but now Tokyo is.”

The clock flips over again. 

“And soon it will be for me?” Seongwu asks, voice quiet.

“Perhaps,” Minhyun answers calmly as his fingers curl back around the width of the book with care. “If you allow it to, of course.” 

Seongwu hums contemplatively. 

He rubs his chest once more before returning to watch the laundry spin around and around, whilst listening to the occasional page turn.

This is the first encounter he has with Hwang Minhyun.

 

 

* * *

 

Seongwu doesn’t believe in destiny.

What he does believe in however, is creating your own fate. And so, he returns to the laundromat seven days later, within the same hour that he had spent there the week prior, making sure he has more than enough change on hand.

Unsurprisingly, he sees Minhyun in the exact same corner folding his clothes neatly one by one.

“Are you stalking me?” Seongwu calls out jokingly as he places his tote bag on the ground.

“I was here first,” Minhyun replies in a sing song manner, not even flinching as if he’d been expecting Seongwu to show up. He peers up further to shoot Seongwu that charming smile of his, shifting the weight of his body from one foot to the other. “Has Tokyo been treating you right?”

Seongwu thinks back to the chase of the dream, wrapped in the mundane of the daily grind. Learning fast, he picks a different laundry machine today and slowly empties his bag, volunteering, “Well, it’s not treating me wrong.”

“It’ll take a while.” There’s a residual tiny smile left on Minhyun’s lips. Seongwu is left to wonder how else he can put it there. “Don’t get impatient.”

“Not just coins, but you’re also dispensing advice?”

Minhyun shakes out his hoodie, flashes Seongwu a knowing grin. “I was in your shoes once.” 

There’s something so comforting about seeing Minhyun there, knowing that Minhyun is there, that if he needs a hand, that he doesn’t even have to make a sound and he’ll receive help. And, it’s strange how sometimes you can find something so familiar, so far away. 

Seongwu slams the door to the machine shut and it clicks, locking in place. 

And water soon gushes into the barrel.

Seongwu keeps his eyes fixed on Minhyun’s. Underneath the coarse lighting, they shine like a flare, so bright it might just burn if he gets too close. It takes Seongwu a good thirty seconds before he remembers his intentions. “Ah, wait just a second.”

He walks outside.

There’s something surreal, the way that Seongwu feels it right down to his toes. Feels it at two am as he stands in front of the vending machine, perusing the downright interesting names that each drink is labelled with.

He ends up picking something called “a newfound memory” which he finds out is essentially just melon milk in disguise but Seongwu swears it tastes exactly as it sounds, savouring the first sip of his can, pressing the other one into Minhyun’s palm.

“Sorry, I had to stay back at work today, which is why I was a little late,” Seongwu apologizes in between gulps. The liquid skims the back of his throat, refreshingly addictive.

“Late?” Minhyun’s brow knits in question, before craning his neck to look at the clock as if the answer is there. 

“You were almost about done, weren’t you?” Seongwu takes another long pull, can tilted back. He hops up to sit on one of the unmoving washers, allowing his legs to swing idly. “If I had come any later, I would have missed you, and you would have forever thought of me with a grudge.”

Minhyun stares at Seongwu, before his eyes curve. He lets out a helpless chuckle. “I didn’t actually mean it for real, you know. It was just one hundred yen, not ten thousand and so, to tell you the truth, I pretty much forgot all about it.”

But he pulls the tab of his own can, fizz expelling.

“Ow, I’m hurt,” Seongwu declares, fake clutching at his chest. “And here I thought I made a good enough first impression on a fellow countryman.”

A pause occurs when Minhyun drinks. A rapidly growing smile soon appears on the other's face, one Seongwu knows would taste melon sweet.

“Not  _you_ , but I meant the dumb deal I had you make.” Minhyun continues softly, “It’s hard to forget you, Ong Seongwu.”

“Ah—” Seongwu sputters for a moment thinking he’s misheard him. Embarrassed, he scratches his neck, about to brush it over and respond back in jest, but then Minhyun beams brightly and Seongwu promptly forgets everything he wants to say.

“Well, I mean, it’s not hard to remember the guy who talks to machines and has multiple patterned socks—one pair with seals, another with squirrels on them,” Minhyun teases and Seongwu’s cheeks burn at his own jump to conclusions. 

However, there’s still something in his chest that swells.

Seongwu would take whatever Minhyun throws at him if it meant he receives a smile every time, like the one currently thriving on Minhyun’s face.

He pulls his feet up to sit in a cross legged position before retorting, “Don’t be so jealous of the awesome socks. My sister got them for me as a gift to celebrate milestones—you know for my college graduation, and on the day that I left for here.”

“Interesting,” Minhyun observes said pair of seal socks poking out from under Seongwu’s pant hem. “And what's your next milestone?”

Behind him, a dryer comes to a slow halt, beeping to signal the end of the cycle.

Seongwu slides off nimbly. He squashes his can and tosses it basketball style into the recycling bin. “Who knows. Maybe coming here to the laundromat and meeting you was one.”

All Minhyun does is simply smile in reply, and holds out his phone. 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks andie and bella for organizing such a beautiful week!!!
> 
> this one fic turned out a little more weirdly introspective with a bit more nothing than i initially planned and apologies if you were expecting more (romance), but i wanted to try something different and thought it was fitting as "first meetings" for the day 1 prompt. i hope you enjoyed it regardless! do let me know :)


	2. endless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> day 2: stardust ✧ magic, fantasy, unexpected encounters 
> 
> minhyun continually intrigues seongwu (angel x reaper au) [T] (3.9k)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sorry i'm kind of cheating. this was a scrapped extra first draft scene from my angel x reaper au [ (intentions of gold). ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12879276) if you haven't read it, it probably... is okay to still read this one because this actually deviates A LOT from what i ended up uploading. all you need to know is that minhyun is an angel, ong is a reaper and they have a partnership with each other in order to fulfil their afterlife duties. throw in some missing souls and them figuring out what they are to each other. IM SORRY AGAIN THIS IS PROBABLY KINDA CONFUSING just. read if u like lol
> 
> warning: this fic IS VERY UNLIKELY going to be continued and it leaves off in a mysterious cliff hanger. i'm sorry ;v;

 

 

 

 

 

Seongwu crash lands ungracefully but perfectly aimed onto his bed days later, face planting straight down into his fluffy pillows. 

Ah, home sweet home.

He needs far less sleep than the average human but being awake for the last fifty five hours and performing back to back soul reapings has pretty much drained him to zero percent battery level. It’s time for him to sleep for an indefinite amount of time, until he ceases to exist in this world if at all possible. The last few days have especially depleted him.

The big emergency had turned out to be the reason for why he found those random souls earlier before. A pair of reapers had apparently decided to go gallivanting and leave all the souls on their reaping lists to wander around on Earth on their own.

It had only been a coincidence that the two souls had died close to him because it had been a nightmare rounding up the rest of the souls.

Rogue reapers don’t happen often at all because again there are plenty of regulations and punishments to deter any reaper from planning to do so and the consequence is usually big enough.

The infernally strange part was the fact that there was no further trace of the missing reapers, but that wasn’t his problem anymore since he’s currently clocked off work.

Seongwu gets maybe about five full minutes of sweet, sweet dreamland before he is very rudely interrupted by a series of consecutive knocks on his bedroom door. “I know you’re home,” comes through.

Jaehwan.

Who sounds very well and obviously not sick at all. Of course he already knew it but still, that shit.

Seongwu hears the door open which means that Jaehwan has also now invaded his space without permission. Again. He opens one eye to glare as furiously as he can at his housemate. The other reaper is wearing skin tight leather pants and a black collared shirt. Seongwu groans irritably.

“What do you want?”

“We’re having drinks at Naked in the Sky. Get up and get dressed into something nicer, you’re coming with us.” 

Seongwu’s brain stirs at the bar name. 

It’s one of the older establishments that is very popular in center of the city because it welcomed all supernatural beings alike and didn’t discriminate between them. He likes it most of the time, though not when his eyes feel like five ton weights.

“No way, you fucker. You’re the reason I’m so tired in the first place.”

Jaehwan ignores his cursing complaint and just exclaims loudly with his hands thrown up in the air, “I’ve recovered miraculously! Also, we’re supposed to meet to celebrate Sungwoon’s promotion, you know he’ll kill you if you miss it.”

Really, the threat isn’t that serious especially since death metaphors aren’t all that funny anymore considering their professions. 

And so it’s not particularly the worded threat that is the key deciding factor, but rather the name that prompts him to think twice. 

Small reaper, but so very dangerous. He probably shouldn’t risk it.

Seongwu moans into his pillow one last time before mournfully dragging himself out of bed and finding himself at said bar an hour later. He is still exhausted, but at least he can feel the slight buzz from the drink sitting in his hand lifting his mood. 

Everyone is laughing uproariously at Daniel who is almost about to clamber up onto the table (celebratory dancing he says) but Seongwu is only half paying attention. His brain space has been snapped up by the literal angel that just walked through the door five minutes ago.

Minhyun had arrived with a few of his friends who Seongwu recognized after various dealings with them plenty a time. 

They are a slightly odd bunch. One of them is elf-like and sprightly, the other burlier but with a cherubic expression with cheeks you’d like to pinch and the other two are handsome and lithe.

Again, reapers and angels generally don’t really tend to mix around often. It just comes with the territory of the lack of contact and the way some of the older angels continue to view inter-mingling as something negative. 

Casual work conversation is fine, but anything further is generally frowned upon.

Seongwu wonders what it is about this particular angel that makes him want to break all of the imaginary rules.

The bar is packed and he loses Minhyun for a hazy minute, before his eyes refocus on the other male who he sees across the room on his own talking to one of the bartenders. “I’m gonna get another drink,” Seongwu mutters under his breath even though the others barely pay him any heed. Since he is already seated on the end, he is able to slip out of the booth quietly and walks unfailingly towards his objective.

“Are we all going to Hell today?” Seongwu murmurs into Minhyun’s ear once he reaches him and squeezes his way in between two other reapers grabbing their own drinks. He makes sure the angel sees his face so to avoid any excessive violence for invading the other’s space. Although he can’t be sure whether it was a failsafe method either but welfare be damned.

“Is that your idea of a pick up line?” Minhyun cocks his head to the side in question though Seongwu notes the angel doesn’t look unpleased to see him. In fact there is a smile toying on the other male's lips. 

The music is deafening and Seongwu tries to make out the rest of Minhyun’s words but when he can’t, he leans in close. He catches a whiff of a sweet fresh scent (is that peach?) that stands out from the enveloping air that is thick with sensuality and sin.

“I would have swapped it for Heaven if it was,” Seongwu chortles, “Oh hellfire, that does sounds a bit cheesy doesn’t it?”

“And they said you were a seasoned heartbreaker.” Minhyun rolls his eyes in response.

“My, my, Hwang Minhyun, the pinnacle of all angelic behavior, gossiping about me?”

Minhyun mouths thanks to the bartender as he accepts the requested drink slid across the counter top. Some sort of pink fruity cocktail. Seongwu orders another beer for himself before he hears Minhyun reply shortly, “You know yourself not all angels are perfect.” But he then smiles, "The movies paint a far better picture of us."

Seongwu deliberates. “Well, I won’t break your heart, if you asked me not to,” the words pop out of Seongwu’s mouth before he can stop himself. He clears his throat before continuing on lightly, “Anyway, I didn’t think you’d be the type for frequenting bars. Or drinking for that matter.” He nods at the glass stem where Minhyun’s long, slender fingers are curled around.

“You don’t know me well enough to know what I like to do in my spare time,” Minhyun replies but the ghost of a small smile hovers on his lips, encouraging Seongwu.

“Fair enough, I suppose we are just work colleagues after all.” Seongwu’s hand moves to steady at the other male’s hip after he gets jostled by someone in the packed crowd. His fingers tighten into the soft flesh subconsciously. “But maybe we should change that then.” 

In that one exact moment, he hones in on the small sliver of desire that has been continuing to unearth itself ever since meeting Minhyun. He wants to blame his current state but the alcohol that he has drunk is nowhere near enough to be the sole cause for the fire he feels in his veins.

Minhyun’s eyes doesn’t leave Seongwu’s as he takes a long sip of his fancy drink. His free hand comes to rest against the small of Seongwu’s back as he takes a step forward to make room for another passing angel. It is a comfortable warmth, this is the closest they’ve been. Seongwu is thankful for small graces, a overwhelmingly hot and crowded bar for one.

Minhyun looks sidelong into the distance before finally answering, “I suppose I could be persuaded, if you’re charming enough.”

Seongwu isn’t sure if Minhyun is referring to friendship, or… other things. He ignores everything else when he brings his mouth up closer to the shell of the angel’s ear under the excuse of the loud, thumping bass. 

“So what do you say? Hmm? Let’s get to know each other better outside of work.”

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

“You’ve been spending a lot of time in Hwang Minhyun’s office lately,” Jaehwan says candidly one day when the two of them are lounging in their shared living room. Daniel is currently working one of the hospital shifts and won’t be home for a while.

“And?” Seongwu yawns, transfixed by the trashy drama that is currently the top favorite of both humans and supernatural beings alike, playing on the television in front of them. He stretches out along the couch, almost accidentally kicking the cup that he had set on the arm-rest off. 

“What’s going on between you two? It’s definitely not just work stuff because I know when your shift schedule ends.”

“Firstly, that’s creepy,” Seongwu says as peels his attention from the TV to look over at Jaehwan who is on the nearby beanbag, “Secondly, what’s it to you who I hang out with? Are you jealous?” He pokes the other reaper in the arm with a black socked toe.

“Me jealous? Psh,” Jaehwan fends off the attack by pinching Seongwu’s foot. “I don’t know why anyone would ever want to spend so much time with you anyway!”

“So why’re you asking?”

“Just wondering if there was something more between the both of you. You know how the older angels are like.” There is a hint of curiosity in Jaehwan’s voice.

“Again, firstly, there’s nothing going on between Minhyun and I. And secondly, there’s nothing going on between Minhyun and I,” Seongwu retorts back vigorously denying the claims.

“Okay, okay, don’t get your underwear in a twist,” Jaehwan says as he lifts his hands in a mock-surrender pose. He drops the subject and turns to return his attention back to the drama, however it just leaves Seongwu to stew in his thoughts instead.

An hour passes, and Seongwu is toeing the transient line between sleep and wakefulness when he hears a light thumping on the door, jerking him back awake. Jaehwan is snoring deeply and doesn’t react to the noise. 

“Well, don’t get up on my accord,” Seongwu mutters as he gets up to go check who is here in the dead of the night. The three of them obviously don’t need keys so it shouldn’t be Daniel, and they aren’t expecting anyone else.

Seongwu normally doesn’t get surprised easily but his immortal heart somehow actually skips a beat when he flings open the front door.

“Holy shit.” Seongwu gapes at the sight of what (or should he say who) is currently strewn over their apartment’s shoe cabinet that sits just outside in the narrow corridor.

“Who’s that?” comes the rasping yell from Jaehwan back in the living room who has awoken from his probably pretend sleep.

“It’s no one, must be one of those random prank knockers. Go back to sleep!” Seongwu yells back, before lowering his voice to a harsh whisper, “Who the hell did this to you?” He pauses before adding, “Or should I say who in _hell_ did this to you?” 

(Probably not the time but he really couldn’t help it.)

Minhyun can only manage out a short groaning, “Angel business,” before slowly collapsing on to the ground. 

That’s probably a nice way to say he had an unfortunate run in with a demon. 

Though why any being would create such damage is another question to ask but Minhyun’s left wing is bleeding red all over the tiling and Seongwu feels kind of sick. He ignores the queasy feeling in his stomach to launch forward to keep Minhyun’s head from crashing into the hard floor.

Seongwu can only manage a quick furtive glance back towards the living room, he’s lucky that he doesn’t need to pass it to get to his bedroom, as he half walks and half drags the semi-comatose angel further into the apartment.

He makes a mental note to clean up what probably looks like a murder scene leading up to their apartment before morning arrives and then says shortly to Minhyun, “Get on the bed.”

There’s a strangled laugh in Minhyun’s voice when he replies thickly, “I can imagine you probably never thought you’d say those words in such a context.” Seongwu pulls a face back.

“Shut up Hwang, you're delirious,” Seongwu orders as he takes in Minhyun’s pale and clammy face. He’s curled up on top of the bedspread, blood having slowed down to an ooze rather than a gush, but still a prominent, large stain over his white feathers. 

Seongwu quickly grabs his first aid kit from underneath his bathroom vanity and pulls out a copious amount of bandages and a spray bottle that contains holy water instead of human made antiseptic. He hasn’t had to use it in years and he hopes it’s still one hundred percent viable.

“Motherfuc—” Minhyun hisses before launching into further uncharacteristic colorful language when the demon inflicted wound reacts as it should to the cool blasts of liquid. Well, at least it seems like blessed water never loses its properties despite the number of years sitting still collecting dust in storage.

“Watch your mouth, angel,” Seongwu berates as he goes to wet a cloth with water, before returning to say, “You should have called me when you were getting tortured by a demon. I wasn’t joking when I suggested the idea of watching it happen back then.”

“It’s your turn to shut up, Ong.”

Seongwu laughs before gently asking, “Do you give me permission to touch your feathers now? Hey, see, I’m asking this time!”

Minhyun nods weakly, eyes still closed as he pathetically whimpers, “Just do it.”

Seongwu uses one hand to squeeze down on Minhyun’s supportively, as he uses the other to dab down hard against the wound stemming the last of the bleeding. He almost gets his left hand broken in the process when Minhyun grips down furiously on it.

“Ow, sorry, sorry.” Seongwu doesn’t normally need to tend to anyone’s wounds, let alone an angel’s wounds and isn’t quite sure how to proceed. He gently runs his fingers down the border of one row, rubbing further cream on to the gash. The angel shivers again from the contact, but this time probably more due to the hypersensitivity caused by pain. Seongwu tries to be quick but he stops, shocked to see a clear hole in the middle of the appendage. “Your wing—”

“It’ll be fine,” Minhyun grits out, “It’ll have to be. Just bandage it up,” he finally continues tiredly, words almost beginning to slur together in pain as Seongwu does as he’s told. 

By the time he is finished with his not so tender loving care, Minhyun has either fainted or has fallen asleep judging by his slow, even breaths. 

Hopefully the latter.

Seongwu quietly opens his bedroom door, armed with the bleach in his attempt to go clean up the blood when he finds himself obstructed by his housemate. He tries to quickly shut the door in Jaehwan’s face but Jaehwan shoves his foot in the space between, successfully blocking the attempt as he says after a yelp of pain, “Who the fuck do you have cooped up in your room?”

“I— There’s no one,” Seongwu replies slowly as he squeezes out of the room, only opening the door with the smallest of cracks. His bed is in the corner so it’s possible Jaehwan can’t see the entire scene. Hopefully.

“I came back and thought one of you had brought home the body of a dead soul,” Daniel says confusedly from the other end of the hallway in the kitchen. Fuck. He didn’t even hear Daniel return home which means, damn they all probably saw the blood then. 

Seongwu looks down and sees his sock damp from standing in a few drops. He sighs. Why did he even think he could get away with it?

“Okay, shit. If I tell you, you guys literally can’t breathe a word to anyone.”

Jaehwan frowns before replying, “C'mon just show us already.” He hesitates, “Wait, you’re not suddenly running around with demons and playing with sacrifices are you? That stuff is disgusting and probably highly illegal. Jisung won’t be pleased.” 

“Well, it _is_ demonic activity, but not like that. Actually, It’ll be easier if I just show you guys since I don’t even know myself what’s going on.” Seongwu says as he clicks open the bedroom door quietly.

A loud breath whooshes out of Daniel’s mouth and Jaehwan jeers beside him as they both take in the sight of the curled up angel on his bed. “You just fucking said there’s nothing going on between you and Hwang Minhyun.”

“There isn’t!” Seongwu hisses, trying to defend himself, before pushing the both of them from the room, in an attempt to herd them out before they wake Minhyun. “We’re just colleagues—okay—alright—friends I guess.”

“Friends or not, explain to us what an angel is doing in a reaper household.”

“I can’t,” Seongwu fires back mulishly. “He just turned up like this bleeding and looking like metaphorical death, and I panicked. You tell me, if an angel was about to pass out in front of you, would you just leave him there?” Seongwu sees Jaehwan open his mouth before it closes down again into a deliberate line, before he continues, “No, I would say not.”

Daniel suddenly asks, “You said a demon did this to him?”

“That’s what he said,” Seongwu offers up. He knows nothing else too.

The three of them are quiet as they stand in the kitchen, the only noise the ticking of the clock on the wall signifying that it’s now three o’clock in the morning. Devil’s hour.

“It’s been getting strange lately, reapers disappearing, and then now demons attacking angels?”

“Do you think it’s all connected?”

“Possibly,” interjects a soft voice from the other end of the room, causing the three of them to swivel around to see Minhyun cradling his wing protectively in to his body as he seemingly glides towards them.

“Hey, you should be resting,” Seongwu says with a frown on his face, striding over quickly to grab Minhyun’s arm and guiding him to sit on down on the couch. The other two move out of the way to avoid Minhyun’s injured wing.

Minhyun blinks owlishly at the show of concern, “It’s fine, I can already feel myself beginning to heal.” Nonetheless he does acquiesce to Seongwu’s prodding and sits his butt down on the cushion. He stares at the curious eyes before finally offering, “We’ve all met briefly before, and I’m sure you already know but I’m Hwang Minhyun.”

Both Jaehwan and Daniel nod their heads simultaneously but decide to stay quiet, now unwilling to broach the subject about why he’s doing in their apartment now that they are face to face with an angel directly in their apartment. 

Seongwu knows he speaks up for the rest of them when he asks, “So wanna tell us what happened?”

Minhyun sighs heavily. “To tell you the truth, I don’t know myself. I got a message saying that a reaper was stuck in Samcheongdong with our appointed soul and that they couldn’t make it to the office and told me to come help. I didn’t think too much of it until I got there and obviously there was no reaper and no soul, but one of the demons instead. I didn’t recognize the face.” 

He takes in the way that Minhyun’s expression is serious, as is the atmosphere in the room. “Can demons be possessed?” Seongwu voices out loud.

Daniel answers back swiftly, “Never come across that before.” 

Seongwu knows the confusion that is permeating through him is shared by the rest of them because they all know that this isn’t protocol, at all. 

“Ah, I can’t be certain if he was possessed or not, but all I remember is his eyes. They just gleamed pure red and he had this gun like weapon and then—” Minhyun breaks off his words and just grimaces.

Seongwu exchanges glances with the others, supernatural beings have never bothered to play with human ammunition before either. This is getting bad to worse.

Minhyun continues again, “I tried to fly back to the angel realm but I couldn’t get very far. The hole in my wing kind of, you know, made things difficult,” Minhyun pauses to smile sardonically, “And before I knew it, I was outside Seongwu’s place.”

“How did you know where I live?”

“Of all the possible questions, you ask that one?” Jaehwan shoves at Seongwu’s arm, almost toppling him over.

“Ow, what the fuck, it’s an appropriate question!”

“I make it my job to know everything about the people I work with. And I’m good at my job,” Minhyun answers, eyes quickly curving into half moons before his expression grows stoic once again. “And that means I really should have known better than to accept a message that didn’t come through the proper channels.”

Seongwu just shivers in response. Usually he has an answer for everything. His days normally repeat themselves, a variation of almost the same things but this year has been a very strange one indeed and for once he doesn’t know what to do.

Daniel finally questions, “Should we call management? Have you tried calling your angel council or whatever it's called?”

“That’s the first thing I did, but all the communication lines were down before.” Minhyun leans back against the sofa, and Seongwu notes his forehead is beading with sweat again.

“Okay, give me your phone, and just lie back for God’s sake.” Seongwu grabs it off Minhyun and tabs down on the first number on Minhyun’s speed dial, figuring that must be the number he's looking for. 

After several tries, it finally rings through and he puts it on speaker phone, the rest of them awkwardly hanging around the living room.

“Minhyun, are you alright? We’ve been having huge problems with some rogue demons,” filters through a concerned sounding voice. 

“Tell me about it, Baekho,” sighs Minhyun wearily, though Seongwu detects a note of happiness for him to finally hear someone of his own kind, “I’m fine but my wing is injured. I’m with some reapers right now.”

“Reapers? With Seongwu?” Minhyun’s eyes which had been trained on Seongwu flickers wildly to the side when the four of them hear Baekho’s reply.

Seongwu has never met Baekho so there’s no reason for the angel to know of his name personally unless… Seongwu mouths delightedly, ‘You’ve been talking about me to your friends,’ to which Minhyun just shoves his palm against Seongwu’s forehead pushing him away. There’s a small pink tinge on Minhyun’s cheeks.

“Yes. Can you come and get me?”

There is a short pause and rustling before Baekho answers, “I don’t trust any of the junior angels to bring you back in one piece and Jonghyun is currently out sorting out something regarding the demon problem. I’ll tell you more later. He’ll come and get you in a few hours, is that okay?”

Minhyun’s eyes search Seongwu who nods. “Yeah, that’s fine.”

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the unedited mess that i wrote literally a whole year ago haha come yell at me @7x7cms


	3. midnight moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> day 5: galaxy ✲彡 (alternate universes)
> 
> minhyun, host of sleepless seoul nights looks forward to a mysterious caller day after day [G] (5.2k)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for [ belle!](https://archiveofourown.org/users/autumndark) i’m so sorry this took forever for me to write but i hope you like it! ♡

 

 

 

 

 

“Thank you for tuning into Korea University’s Sleepless Seoul Nights on 95.8 FM. This is Hwang Minhyun signing off with our last song to match the weather outside, Heize’s ‘You Cloud Rain’. Please stay warm, sleep tight and hope to catch you all next time.”

Minhyun makes sure the instrumental segues in before he pulls off his headphones and pushes the mic boom away. He yawns as he stretches his arms out overhead, attempting to ease out the kinks of his muscles from sitting consecutively for the last three hours.

The red ‘ON AIR’ sign blinks off and he gets a thumbs up from Woojin, the junior who works as his sound engineer, signalling the end of his shift.

Minhyun used to wish that he had snagged a much earlier time slot (curse his slow decision making skills) but over the course of comfortably settling into his radio host role in the past months, he’s come to relish the moments at midnight that’s just him, his favorite playlist and the thought of the listeners he could potentially help lull to sleep within the depths of the night.

Though realistically—being a campus radio station and having a 97% following base comprised of mainly students, Minhyun knows he isn’t luring anyone to bed on a Wednesday night. Rather, he’s just hopefully helping them get through the first stage of their attempted all nighter—trying to complete that half-assed essay so they can keep their weekends free for other…less academic pursuits.

It’s also slightly embarrassing to admit, but Minhyun figures part of his ongoing enthusiasm at such a godforsaken hour, is the validation in the fact that he’s garnered a much more positive response than he could ever imagine.

When the ratings had been delivered after his first month of hosting, Minhyun had been surprised to see that there had been a massive spike in numbers compared to the previous host in the same time slot.

(“I mean, we have to admit there was only going up after having taken over from someone who used to just play 'Fantastic Baby' repeatedly.” 

Jisung, the broadcasting club’s president and show supervisor had grimaced in response.“Well yes, I can’t refute that since we ditched him for that exact reason, but look! There’s a ton of messages complimenting your voice and your great taste in music. That’s definitely all you.”)

Since then, the show’s popularity has continued to grow steadily.

And because of the ever increasing interest regarding listening to Minhyun speak, they also recently made the decision of introducing a new corner where people could call in if they wished, either to share an occasionally enthralling anecdote (or not), ask for advice, or merely just request a song—a chance to interact directly with Minhyun himself which has taken off with huge success.

To put it more succinctly via Woojin’s previous words: 

“Half the campus has fallen in love with you Minhyun-hyung, and the other half just haven’t heard your radio show yet.” 

Minhyun shrugs on his jacket and makes his way out of the inner recording booth. He lets out a laugh under his breath reminiscing on Woojin’s spiel regarding why he’d garnered such a fanbase. 

It’s constantly a strange feeling to know that he has such an effect on others because it’s almost incomprehensible to him in the first place.

But hey, he’s not going to complain.

He’s out here doing something he loves, and getting love back in return for it.

Today’s show had gone smoothly as usual. Minhyun had done his normal routine and managed to field an array of various calls, ranging from a lighthearted one insisting on Minhyun playing SNSD’s I Got A Boy ten times in a row because quote, “it’s our generation’s ultimate love song” unquote, to more earnest interactions like soothing someone’s complaints about a bad day.

However, Minhyun can’t explain the slight emptiness he feels currently. 

Or can he?

“So,” Woojin begins as he looks at Minhyun expectantly. Minhyun can sense said eyes continuing to latch on, following his every move as he walks to place his prepared weekly script back in the drawer. “Are you disappointed that your favorite caller didn’t phone in tonight hyung?” Woojin cheekily asks as he loops a length of cord into a circle, tidying the wiring.

Minhyun’s brain involuntarily zooms directly to a shadow, but more importantly to the particular lingering voice that has taken residence within him. His cheeks immediately take on a whisper of heat but he ignores the reaction to pronounce loudly, “I have no idea who you’re talking about.”

Of course he knows specifically whom Woojin is referring to, but there’s no way he’s going to admit it directly, lest to baby satan number two. (Number one by the way is reserved wholeheartedly for a Park Jihoon.)

“Ha!” Woojin crows loudly. “That’s exactly the look you get whenever you talk to Mr Caller ID #825!” He gestures his hand aggressively through the air. “Your face gets all weird and blushy—exactly like what’s happening right now, and your voice gets even softer during your calls with him.”

He can’t be that transparent can he?

“It’s rude to point at your elders like that, Woojin.” Minhyun doesn’t bother acknowledging the subject at hand, though he feels the warmth intensify. He opens and shuts the drawer several times uselessly, distracted in his actions.

“My bad.” Woojin ducks his head in apology as he returns to busying himself with the mass of black wire in his grasp. After a moment, he peers back up, unable to help himself from saying, “But you're totally just derailing the conversation because you know I’m right.”

“Wrong, because I don’t have favorite callers,” Minhyun fires back primly. “They’re all equally as important to me.”

Woojin groans. “But you have to admit you obviously like him more than any of the other ones! I mean, he always calls back and you guys end up talking for far longer than the normal allocated minutes. We always have to tell you to cut it short.” His dark eyes glimmer. “By the way, have you seen the poll I put up on the station’s twitter account last week?”

“No I haven’t checked.” Minhyun stares reproachfully at Woojin. “Do I even want to ask what it was about?”

“Well, it’s now official,” Woojin sings out cheerfully as he flicks off the switchboard. “The listeners all think there’s an infinite amount of sexual chemistry between you and #825 and you both should definitely meet and fu—” Woojin’s words immediately gets muffled as Minhyun lunges forward to slap a hand over the apparently filthy mouth before him.

“Please don’t ever say that or reference any other words associated with sex ever again,” Minhyun pleads desperately. “You’re still a child.” 

“I’m not a kid!” Woojin retorts. “And, I was simply going to say _fuel_ everyone’s fantasies, not whatever you _thought_ I was going to say.”

“Sure, if you say so.” Minhyun snorts and slings an arm around Woojin’s neck, placing him in an almost headlock whilst fondly rubbing his knuckles against hair with his other hand. “Please don’t ever grow up. The world is a scary place.”

Woojin wiggles free from Minhyun’s hold, looking at him unamused. “Minhyun-hyung,” Woojin begins. “Sage advice time is only limited to your show, and just saying, I’m not as naive as you think I am.” He coughs. “In fact, I’m probably more experienced than you are.”

“Wow, that’s a low blow Woojin.” Minhyun pulls at the neck of his sweater. “Also, far too much information.”

“I mean it’s true hyung! When was the last time you dated someone?” Woojin pauses before continuing mischievously, “Texting does _not_ count.”

Minhyun frowns. He inwardly acknowledges his lack of current romantic love life, but for his junior to point it out so blatantly makes him feel more ashamed about it than he knows he should be. He shakes his head and states carefully, “I just haven’t found anyone that I like enough yet.”

But again for the second time today, Minhyun immediately finds his mind wandering again to the specific caller in question to his utter dismay. 

He wouldn’t quite label his feelings towards #825 as entirely embedded in romantic inclination but he can’t deny that he hasn’t spent lengthy periods after speaking to him on the radio trying to match the clear, vibrant voice to a tangible face behind the static:

A chiselled profile, rather than something too soft. Lively eyes that probably crinkle at the corner following a bout of laughter after managing to gain a reaction out of Minhyun. And definitely the warmest smile that would never fail to make the people around him happy.

(And really, if Minhyun himself feels so good after allowing just that vocal tone to wash over him through the airwaves, Minhyun can’t imagine how it must be like to witness it first hand in person.)

However, it’s not just the stupidly addictive voice, but the stranger somehow also manages to keep Minhyun on his toes regarding a wide variety of subjects. As Woojin had so kindly pointed out before, conversation has flown easily between them ever since the first call that had been placed and Minhyun has never been so intrigued by a person before _him_.

He’s thought about it. It’s very likely #825 is also a student at the same university but since there are also thousands of other students swarming over campus, Minhyun has unsurprisingly not yet come across the person who owns the voice that plagues his daydreams.

Minhyun shivers reflexively. Perhaps it’s better this way—keeping their interactions faceless and anonymous.

“Ah, you’ve always been so easy to read.”

Minhyun clears his throat. “And what exactly do you mean by that?”

“Please don’t try to pretend that we’re not thinking about the same person right now.” A sly smirk curls onto Woojin’s lip. “Look hyung, all I’m trying to do is help by being your wingman here. I even asked if anyone had any clues to who your mystery man is and if they did, to send the information in. So, you better thank me when you’re finally getting some.

“Alright, I’m going to strangle you if you don’t stop talking right now.”

“Hey, all I’m saying—,” Woojin mutters, hands in a defensive position as he backs away, “—is that you two do have some freaky tension that everyone can clearly hear. You can’t blame me for taking the initiative before the rest of us die from your game of on air gay chicken since you’re obviously not going to do anything about your big fat crush.”

A half strangled noise emits from Minhyun’s throat. “What do you mean gay chicken?”

“How oblivious can you get?” Woojin tilts his head to the side. “Wow, don’t tell me you haven’t realized that what you’re both been doing is called flirting. Big time.” 

“It’s not flirting because it’s not a crush,” Minhyun corrects meekly. “It’s just being nice.”

Woojin’s observing him carefully from where he is now standing a safe distance away by the exit and Minhyun shakes his head once more.

Their eye contact breaks when Woojin bends over to pick up his backpack before he straightens back up to reply affably, “Sure, tell that to my face when I have to watch you heart-eye all over him again the next time he calls.” Woojin wiggles his fingers at Minhyun. “Night hyung!” 

With that parting statement, Woojin disappears out the door, leaving Minhyun behind speechless and with a stomach twisted into knots. 

 

 

〰️

 

 

Woojin’s words unfortunately come back to haunt him when Minhyun finds himself doing exactly that, days later when #825 finally rings in again.

Look, it’s not Minhyun’s fault.

Because really, how can someone, _anyone_ remain stone-cold in the face of the loveliest laughter a person’s ever heard? It’s the same laugh that is currently making Minhyun’s heart race a little faster than normal, sending shivers down his back like a hot caress.

But it’s _just_ the sound of #825’s voice and the contagious chuckles that Minhyun can’t get enough of, right?

It’s _not_ a crush. 

( Okay fine, maybe a minuscule one. )

( Shut up Park Woojin. )

“It wasn’t that funny,” Minhyun argues back lightly, leaning closer into the microphone. Despite his words however, he can’t help but begin to laugh together in sync when #825 just laughs even harder in response. 

Soon, there’s nothing but the noise of them dissolving into fits of giggles at Minhyun’s earlier comment. Minhyun knows this isn’t quite the soundtrack that his listeners might want to hear at 11pm late Monday night, but it’s like a runaway train.

Or at least he tells himself that it’s just an involuntary bodily reaction that even the heavens can’t prevent. Let alone Woojin’s dancing eyes in the background that Minhyun pointedly ignores to focus on the way he feels so relaxed, in this moment. 

“You’re playing down your comedic talent,” #825 tells him, voice slightly raspy when they both finally manage to catch their breath. “I haven’t laughed this much in months and I’m sure the rest of the listeners are too.” 

“More like you’re exaggerating,” Minhyun chides gently. He runs a hand through his freshly washed hair, squirming in his chair. Minhyun usually takes compliments easily—god knows the radio station’s twitter gets a flood of them during each of his shifts—but for some reason whenever it comes directly from #825’s mouth, it renders him flustered like a naive high schooler again. “My friends tell me I need to work on my jokes.” 

“Mhm, I’m not lying,” the reply comes forth, sending vibrations through Minhyun as he soaks in the timbre of the other’s voice and the reaffirmation of the compliment. “But if that’s the case, I guess at the very least, our humor matches well then."

Minhyun quips, “Ah, if you continue saying things like this, I might just have to keep you on with me.”

( Woojin gags in the background. )

There’s a short pause before the answer comes. 

“You don’t even know my name and you’re already propositioning me in public?” Minhyun can hear the playful hints in #825’s reply and he can also practically see the broad smile despite still not being able to visualize the man’s face.

Minhyun immediately reddens.

It’s amazing how every time he speaks to #825, Minhyun always ends up forgetting they are on air and it doesn’t help his case when the caller turns on his charm which happens far too often. Minhyun gesticulates his hands wildly as he quickly retorts, “You know I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Do I?” A soft laugh. “A week of not speaking and you miss me that much already huh, Hwang Minhyun?” #825 murmurs back casually. 

There and then, Minhyun almost wants to evaporate, simultaneously with the way his name sounds on #825’s tongue, syllables lovingly wrapped up amongst the teasing, and the embarrassment he feels permeating through him.

A wince escapes. Truly, it’s probably a sign he definitely needs to get a grip. 

Minhyun pats his cheeks several times before allowing his cool palms to rest against the warm skin. He takes a deep breath. “It’s not me that has missed you—“ ( lies ) “—but the listeners. And you’re right in that we still don’t know your name after this many weeks, so don’t you think you owe us the favor?” Minhyun quietly smiles now. “It turns out you’ve gained a few fans yourself.”

It’s true. It turns out the reason that Jisung hasn’t berated Minhyun further for taking up precious air time for his longer conversations with #825 yet is purely because of a continuing increasing rise in the ratings since they started interacting following #825’s regular phone in. 

According to Woojin, the twitter account that Minhyun forgets exists half the time supposedly receives a steady influx of tweets during each of their calls consisting of key-smashes and, or cooing comments about how cute they sound together. 

There’s also sometimes a couple of requests thrown in for #825 to might as well become his co-host which did make Minhyun semi-intrigued at the prospect but that’s a thought for another day. 

“Hmm,” #825 hums. “Knowing my name is perhaps a little dangerous and too powerful in your hands so I’m not entirely sure about that.” 

“C’mon,” Minhyun wheedles in response. “What if I ask nicely? Please?” 

“Alright,” comes #825’s easy reply and Minhyun is slightly surprised at how quickly he cracked—but really, he should have known it wasn’t going to come without a catch when #825 immediately continues, “Maybe in exchange for a song.” 

“A song?” Okay, at least that’s simple. “Tell me whatever you want, and if we have it in the music library I’ll play it for you.” 

“Nuh uh.” #825 clicks his tongue. “No deal. What I want is for _you_ to sing it, Minhyun.” 

Minhyun splutters for a moment, unsure if he heard right. “W-What?”

“Yeeeeeeeeap,” the caller draws out. “I know you like singing but probably don’t get a chance to, what with playing other people’s songs all day long, so I’m awarding you with this golden opportunity _and_ you’ll maybe get to find out a bit more about me too. Win, win.” 

Minhyun isn’t sure how to respond. 

The word ‘like' is an understatement, because he _loves_ singing. 

He also remembers having sang several snippets of songs before in the recent weeks but he didn’t think anyone paid much attention to them. Singing is not usually something that he does in public—doesn’t think he can compare to any of the artists he plays every night on the radio. 

So, it’s surprising that this mystery caller is wanting him to do it. 

And the idea makes him sweat a little.

He lets out a helpless sigh. “Seriously, no one wants to hear me when they can listen to any other proper singer instead.”

“Minhyun,” #825 starts, in a lecturing tone. “Honestly, your playlists are perfect and all, but truthfully, I’ll bet my entire arm that most people are tuning in to your show because they are a fan of _you_ , and that means wanting to know more about you. And so, if you want to sing, then _sing_.” 

“You’re putting me on the spot now.” Minhyun groans. “There’s way too many people listening in.” 

There’s a contemplative noise before, “There was once I was listening in and you gave a little bit of advice that has stuck with me since then. You said that in order to achieve our dreams, sometimes we need a little bit of courage and well, this is it, Minhyun. This is your courage.” 

Minhyun throws his hand into his hair again, attempting to ignore the way it feels like rolling waves have erupted in his stomach. His eye catches the laptop screen where a message from Woojin pops up: ‘Do it hyung. The listeners want you to as well.’

He has no choice now does he? 

Turning back to the mic boom, Minhyun says softly, “Ah. I guess you drive a hard bargain and I can’t say no then. What do you want to hear?”

He can almost hear the smile again in #825’s voice when the caller replies, “I’ll be happy with whatever you’re most comfortable with.”

Minhyun scans his brain, skims through the numerous songs that sit on the surface, trying to land on one that is recently a favorite to him. One that reminds him of #825 in the first place. Not before long, he finally does.

Taking a deep breath in, Minhyun [sings](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sp4aLQ2eycQ)—

 

> Usually at this time you sleep like this right now  
>  Walking with me it must not be a dream,  
>  Yeah, it’s not dream  
>  We’re together, let’s stay together today
> 
> While looking at the moon rising in the sky  
>  We’ve swam in countless nights
> 
> T he sound of our hearts is too loud   
>  E ven the birds that were asleep flew away
> 
> I feel like I’m flying over the moon  
>  Moon moon
> 
> Sing a song with me oh oh  
>  Like woo like ah  
> 
> 
> The sky’s moon is floating like my heart  
>  Our love fills the sky with sparks that fly up

 

When Minhyun finishes, the line goes silent and all Minhyun can hear is static rustling and his heart thudding frantically against his chest.

He’s wonders if the call got cut off and whips his head around to look at Woojin. However, he just gets the signal that they are still on air. He also gets a thumbs up. Before Minhyun can say anything, there’s an audible exhale.

Soon—

“Thanks for indulging me Minhyun, that was beautiful.” 

Minhyun’s blush returns in full force. He clears his throat. “That was Moon, 12:04 by offonoff. I remember how much you said you liked them,” Minhyun says shyly before the embarrassment gives way to remember the deal they had in the first place. “And, this means you owe us now.” 

#825 merely laughs. “I don’t recall promising anything except maybe a hint about myself.” 

“Hey, that’s cheating!” Minhyun responds indignantly. “I just bared everything and sang for you.”

“That you did. But I’m mean and horrible so—“ There goes the laugh again. “Come to the open mic night this Friday. It’s at 9pm at Orion bar.” Minhyun recognises the event, it’s been advertised around campus for the last month and he’s been simultaneously both been trying to talk himself into, and out of doing it. “I’ll definitely be there so if you want to find out my name, meet me there.” 

“But we don’t even know what each other looks like?” 

“Ah, yeah that would be a problem wouldn’t it?” There’s a bit of slyness in #825’s voice, as if he knows exactly what he’s engineering. “I’ll cut you a firm promise then. For real this time. If you sing the same song at the open mic night, I’ll come up and introduce myself to you.”

“Wait, I don’t like the sound of this.” Minhyun squints, wishing he could see the expression of the caller. “How can I trust you?”

“You can’t, but these are my terms so take it or leave it.” 

 

 

〰️

 

 

Minhyun has absolutely no idea how he manages to be dragged to Orion bar on said Friday night. He couldn’t give any excuse because he doesn’t normally go on air from Fridays to Sundays, and both Woojin and Jihoon insisted that he needed to meet #825, if only for the sake of their listeners. 

Who apparently, are completely and undoubtedly invested in the love story of the decade. 

Again, quote, unquote. 

Because he was a last minute addition, he’s been placed right at the end of the night, to be the final one to sing and it’s ridiculous how much his heart wants to thump out of his chest. 

Nursing his drink, Minhyun sits at the corner of the bar, swishing the liquid around the ice in his glass, nervous as hell. He can’t help but stare intently at everyone sitting down. But he has nothing except a firm hold of a voice that persists through his mind every night. 

And how do you find a guy who you know pretty much everything about, except their face? 

His reverie is broken through when Woojin mutters, “Are you ready? You’re up next hyung.” Indeed, when Minhyun actually processes what Woojin just said, he also realizes that the person with the guitar in front of everyone is strumming his end chords, which gives way to big applause.

“No, I’m leaving. I don’t need to know who this guy is. This is ridiculous,” Minhyun babbles, feeling the anxiety increase even more to fill him up. His insides are doing rollercoasters at the thought of both singing in front of a big crowd, and also because what if he’s not good enough for #825? 

Disappoints him? 

Before Minhyun can escape and leave, Woojin grabs a hold of his arm and holds Minhyun in place. “No way, you’re not going anywhere—“ with unnatural strength, he twists Minhyun around so that instead of the exit, he’s facing the stage, and pushes him forward, “—except up there.” 

Minhyun looks behind him. “Woojin, I’m going to _murder_ you when I’m done.” 

“Whatever, you totally wouldn’t because you’re way too soft. Anyway even if you weren’t you and did come after me with an axe, this is sacrifice in the name of the greater picture, baby,” Woojin tosses out. “Go get ‘em, hyung. We all have faith in you.” Jihoon nods, giving his shoulder a pat.

_Crap._

Minhyun’s legs are mechanical as they walk his body to the front of the room. He can’t even stop himself now. 

They finally stop short when he reaches the microphone. He taps it once without thinking, wincing slightly when it echoes through the room. 

“Sorry,” he offers apologetically. “I’m new to this. I’m Minhyun. I’m the radio host of Sleepless Seoul Nights so I usually talk to a room full of no-one, rather than—” Minhyun waves his hand in front of him, “—you know actual humans.” The crowd—really a big, swarming mass of people—titters as if recognizing his voice and Minhyun wipes his clammy hand on the back of his jeans.

“Anyway, yeah, long story short, I was sorta suckered into singing here tonight, so I’m a little worried since there’s been a lot of great acts already, but I hope you all enjoy this song? It’s something close to my heart and is uh—for #825, if you’re out there.” 

Minhyun admits it’s the cheesiest thing ever, to dedicate a song to someone in this manner as if like a proposal and declaration of a crush but at this stage, he’s pretty much given in to his emotions—unable to deny that he isn’t head over heels over the mystery caller. 

It’s a rerun of when he sang to #825 over the radio, but this time, Minhyun feels slightly more emboldened knowing that the caller is actually physically present in the same room as him, (hopefully) and pours himself into singing Moon, 12:04 again with as much as he has.

When Minhyun’s done, he can barely even register the loud claps and cheers because his head feels heavy, chest tight. He quickly gives his thanks and stumbles off the stage, unsure where he’s supposed to go now—wondering if #825 was actually going to come up to him. 

It feels strange, everything left out of his hands. 

The bar is now filled with loud, booming music and Minhyun tries to return back to his friends, but both Woojin and Jihoon are nowhere to be seen, having disappeared to God knows where together. Of course, they gather to merely witness his misery, and then leave him stranded. 

His phone bleeps.

Digging it out from his pocket, Minhyun sees it’s from Woojin, and there’s only one word on it— _incoming_. Before he can make sense of the message, or reply back, there’s an interruption—

“Hey Minhyun. Glad you came,” someone says, voice so utterly familiar. Smooth, and comfortable. Like a nestling into a warm bed on a cold, rainy night. “I definitely liked the song choice.”

Minhyun looks up sharply, taking in the face before him that firstly, is so out of this world good looking, but secondly, is actually recognizable?

Or, well, half his profile is.

The guy is surprisingly the same one that has been sitting next to him in his weekly early morning lectures on a Tuesday for the last month since the new semester started—the one that doesn’t speak a single word because he’s normally asleep, face cutely smushed against an open book. 

Minhyun never got the chance to figure out why, because he never had the heart to actually wake him up before having to leave for his next class.

Despite the late nights he keeps because of his job, Minhyun doesn’t need that much sleep himself, but he knows as a student himself, they all try to get sleep wherever, and whenever, so it wasn’t his place to withhold it from the stranger, just for curiosity’s sake.

“You!” 

“Yes, me. Caller #825?” A hand is lifted up to hover in between their bodies.

“No—well, yes, that too, but Theories of Communications, 8am?” Minhyun elucidates as he grabs #825’s hand, “You’re the one that I’ve been clicking answers for because you’re usually out cold.” There’s a warmth travelling up his arm, from where their palms meet. 

#825 ducks his head, and lets go of the hand hold, to scratch his throat. He looks sheepish when he replies, “Ah—you’ve been the one doing that for me? I was wondering who the saint was…” 

Minhyun nods. Really, he felt super bad just leaving the guy there and it wasn’t like it was hard to just press a few buttons in order for the other student to get his participation points. “Yeah. I guess I didn’t want you to fail.” 

The bashful expression changes immediately with #825’s lips curling into a broad smile. “Sure, it wasn’t because of my pretty face?” 

Minhyun raises an eyebrow. “Not with all that drool pooling on the textbook.” (There wasn’t, but the other guy doesn’t need to know.)

#825 laughs immediately, the lovely noise once again travelling through Minhyun right down to his toes. It sounds even better with no barriers in between them. Damn, he’s well and truly done for isn’t he? 

“Touche, you got me there. Anyway, it’s all your fault.”

“Mine?” Minhyun blinks in confusion.

“You see, that 8am class is my only early lecture, and I am really not an morning person. Partly because during the week, I stay up late listening to your show,” #825 says, shrugging his shoulders. “So, it makes sense that it’s your responsibility to make sure that I get my degree.” 

“That is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Mhm, either way, it’s the truth and I wouldn’t give up listening to you any day.”

Minhyun feels the blood rushing to his face. “You’re stupid.” 

“Yes. Yes I am.” The blinding grin is still plastered on #825’s face, unaffected by the playful insult. He scrunches his nose and Minhyun wants to die a little. “I’m just stupidly in like with you and your gorgeous voice, Hwang Minhyun.” 

Minhyun chokes. He’s not normally a sappy guy at all, but everything that #825 does makes him sort of want to peel his face off. “Wait—stop looking at me like that,” Minhyun pronounces solemnly, nervousness back again.

“Like what?” #825 stares back at him headlong.

“Like that!” Minhyun waves his hand broadly. “Like you know everything about me, whilst I still don’t even know _your_ name, bringing us back to square one.”

“You know lots about me and a name isn’t going to change it.” #825’s eyes twinkle, and a dimple pops up in his cheek, on the side with the pretty little moles. A dimple that Minhyun will come to learn shows itself whenever the other male is really happy. “But you're right, I did promise you.”

“You did.” 

Their hands find their way together again, but this time to intertwine fingers. “I’m Ong Seongwu.” 

Minhyun breathes out, “It’s nice to finally meet you Seongwu.” 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was pretty much just an ode to offonoff. also a way for me to smash up radio dj prompt and this [clicker](https://twitter.com/7x7cms/status/1015909030034698240) one!! :) anyway this is probably my last fic for o/h week so i hope you enjoyed them. drop me a comment if you did! and again, thank you to everyone for participating whether as a reader or a content creator ♡ see you next time!


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